When There Was Me and You
by lesbianshipperxoxo
Summary: No, Mom, I'm not okay, Emily thought. The first girl I ever loved is dead. My other girlfriend's dead. And I can't help but feel that both of their deaths is my fault. Everything I love ends up dying.


"No! God, _**no**_! Maya, run!"

Emily Fields woke up screaming bloody murder, just as she had for the past two and a half weeks, urging her dead girlfriend Maya to run from the bloodthirsty killer who was chasing her.

Nobody knew for sure who had killed Maya, but Garrett Reynolds was the prime suspect, and Emily didn't doubt he'd do something like that. After all, he'd dated Jenna Marshall- _Jenna_ of all people, the Jenna who hated Emily and her friend's guts (and she had every reason to, though the girls didn't like to think about that much,) and he had been arrested recently for the murder of Alison DiLaurentis._ Ali._ Emily felt her chest tighten when she thought of another beautiful, dead girl Emily had loved whom had had her life cut unexpectedly short.

"Emily?" Pam Fields gently pushed the bedroom door open, sticking her head into the room. Her robe was pulled tightly around her body, eyes blurry and baggy from not getting much sleep herself in the past couple of weeks. The first night Emily had started screaming for Maya Pam had come running in, terrified herself by the sounds of her daughter screaming, but now it was all part of the routine Emily had started for herself to help her cope. She got up in the morning, went to work, hung out with her friends, came home for dinner, went out partying in an attempt to ease the pain (although Pam didn't know that- she thought Emily just went back to hang out with Spencer, Aria, and Hanna, and she figured that Emily needed her friends more than ever in a time like this) and then came home, got at most two hours of uninterrupted sleep if she was lucky, and then woke up screaming for Maya.

It was a cycle that refused to be broken.

The partying was the worst.

Sure, drinking eased the pain for a bit, but she always ended up in someone's bedroom making out with some hot chick. They'd start clawing at her clothes like an animal, trying to undress her, and that was when she ended things. There was a very pronounced line between making out to take away the pain and having sex to take away the pain that she refused to cross. She refused to have sex with someone she barely even knew, especially with the conservative way her parents had brought her up.

Even if it could help her forget about everything she had lost.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" Pam came a bit further into the room, forehead wrinkled in concern. Emily hated seeing the way there was certain places on her mom's face that didn't smooth out once her face relaxed nowadays, seeing that her mother's beautiful dark hair was now flecked with the occasional grey hair and knowing that it was all her fault. These past couple of years had taken their toll on not only Emily, but her parents as well.

_No, Mom, I'm not okay,_ Emily thought. _The first girl I ever loved is dead. My other girlfriend's dead. And I can't help but feel that both of their deaths is my fault. Everything I love ends up dying._ However, she didn't voice that. She never voiced what she was truly thinking. "I'm fine, mom," she said with a wry smile. "Just another nightmare."

"I'll be right back." Pam disappeared, and then came back a couple of minutes later carrying a glass of water and two pills. "I probably shouldn't be giving you this, and it can't be an every night thing, but at least it'll help you for tonight." She handed Emily the pills, which the girl promptly swallowed, and then the water, which she drank slowly and carefully.

"Thanks, Mom," she murmured, handing the now empty glass back to her mother. She could already feel her eyelids growing heavier, and she settled back against the pillows, slipping into sweet oblivion, her dreams devoid of the faces of dead girls for the first time in months.

* * *

Emily couldn't even explain why she was doing it, but she had decided to make the trip back up into her attic once more.

The day after she had found out about Maya's death, the girls came to visit her. She was nearly catatonic, lying in bed staring blankly at the wall, but when they asked her if there was anything they could do she dully instructed them to take everything of Maya's and store it in the attic. Her copy of The Hunger Games she had lent Emily (oh, who would've thought that Maya's life would turn into a game of The Hunger Games with her as the loser so quickly?) the gorgeous blue sweater she had lent Emily (it still smelled like Maya, no matter how many times Emily wore it and her mom washed it) and the countless number of pictures the two girls had taken together.

Out of sight, out of mind. Right?

Wrong.

She thought that removing Maya's stuff from the room would be the first step towards recovery, but she was sorely mistaken. It just made her miss the other girl even more, and she felt like a terrible person for attempting to remove all evidence that Maya St. Germain had ever lived from her existence. You were supposed to honor the dead's life once they were gone, not try to hide it away. If the roles were reversed, Maya definitely wouldn't be a coward. She wouldn't have to worry about throwing up upon seeing a picture of Emily. She would have her entire nightstand lined up with pictures of them, reminding herself that Emily Fields had once been a living, breathing, feeling human, and that they had once been deeply in love with each other.

Her favorite picture of her and Maya was the one they had taken of themselves right before the movie started on their first date. Matching grins on their faces, bodies pressed tightly together as they took the picture, ecstatic to be on a real date for once, they looked so young, so happy, so... innocent.

That was the picture that ended up going up next to the photo she had placed of her and Ali on her nightstand, one they had taken at one of the numerous sleepovers they had had.

If her friends or her parents noticed anything odd about those two photos being put up side by side in her room, they didn't say anything.

* * *

Emily found herself having to pull over to the side of the road one afternoon on her way home from work.

Why? Because Taylor Swift's You Belong With Me had suddenly come blasting through her speakers.

That probably sounded like a stupid reason to most people, and maybe it was, but they didn't understand her or her feelings. That was the song her and Ali had always used to sing (more like_ shout_) the lyrics to each other at sleepovers. They'd dance and sing and giggle. Sometimes Jason would come into the room, shaking his head and muttering about "these stupid girls, why couldn't they just all leave and take their off-key screeching elsewhere?"

Of course, that never happened at sleepovers with the other girls. Alison reserved the singing and dancing for Emily-only sleepovers.

Emily was pretty sure that she was the only one who Ali had personal sleepovers with. Of course, they hung out as a group all the time, they had group sleepovers, and sometimes they hung out one-on-one with Ali, but she never heard any of the other girls talking about something fun that had happened when Alison spent the night at her house without the other girls.

It was for that reason that Emily kept her mouth shut about it. What if the other girls wondered why she was bragging about something so superficial and then figured out her true feelings for Ali? Or worse, what if Alison _intended_ for the sleepovers to be private, and she ended them once Emily spilled the beans to the other girls? That would be the end of the world for Emily.

She loved Alison no matter where they were, what they were doing, but the girl's true personality always shone through when it was just the two of them.

At their sleepovers, she was no longer Alison, the bitch who had humiliated and hurt Emily by kissing her one minute and then declaring that Emily was just practice for the real thing the next, or Alison, the beautiful girl Emily loved who had brought her into the group and protected her from all the bullies at school, who made Emily into a popular girl.

She was just Ali.

* * *

Emily believed that Alison and Maya would've been friends if they had both been alive at the same time.

Sure, Maya may not have been as mean as Alison, but they both still had a lot in common. They both kept it real, were funny, and had no problem expressing the way they felt, a trait that Emily particularly envied since she was almost the exact opposite. She was terrible at telling people when she liked them- her palms got all sweaty, and her throat closed up, and her voice got all squeaky.

She could almost imagine the conversations the two of them would have. They would talk about clothes, things that annoyed them, boys- the part of Emily that had always hoped to someday hear Ali express her deep, unwavering love for Emily hoped that they'd talk about her as well.

She had been raised in a Christian household her entire life. She went to church every Sunday with her mom, dressed nicely, hair neatly brushed as she sat there for two hours, hands in her lap as she listened to the pastor drone on and on.

It was hard to believe that there was a God or such a thing as Heaven or Hell anymore. What with A, Alison's disappearance and then death, Maya's death... it almost felt like Rosewood was her very own personal Hell nowadays.

However, her one wish was that if there was such a thing as Heaven or Hell, that both Alison and Maya had made it into Heaven's gates safely.

Emily knew that the Bible preached against homosexuality. That was one of the reasons her mother had had a hard time accepting her sexuality at first, and part of the reason why Emily didn't _want_ to believe in God anymore. Surprisingly, most of Rosewood was accepting of her even after she came out and had embraced the new and improved Emily Fields with open arms, but Emily wasn't stupid. She could see the judgmental way the people at church looked at her nowadays when she showed up on Sundays, as if they wanted to attempt to pray the gay away with her and yet keep themselves and their children away from Emily at the same time, lest they catch "the gay bug."

However, Maya was a genuinely kind, caring person, and even if she was gay, Emily thought that there was no one who belonged in Heaven more than her.

Emily also knew that the Bible talked about loving your neighbor and how no one had the right to criticize someone except for God, since they were all equal in His eyes. Alison certainly didn't live by that motto, as anyone in Rosewood would be quick to point out. She lied, she bullied, she manipulated, she made fun of others... she was no saint, to put it mildly.

However, she was Emily's angel. She was Emily's beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel who Emily had fallen in love with. Alison was perfect in her eyes. Sure, she was mean to others sometimes, but who wasn't at least occasionally? She protected Emily, though, and that was what she cared about. During the time that they were best friends, she made Emily feel safer and happier than she had ever felt. Nothing bad could happen when Ali was around. After a while of pining for Alison, the word home became synonymous with Ali's arms, the warmth of her embrace.

Emily always said an extra prayer at night for Alison and Maya just in case. Tell them she loved them, she missed them both so much in so many different ways that she couldn't explain. Tell them she wished that_ one_ of them had thought to bring her with, how much she'd rather be in the afterlife with them than in Rosewood.

And the girl hoped that her prayers were received.

* * *

_**Love it? Hate it? Review it? Review it, please! :) The last part actually sprung out of nowhere, not gonna lie. I didn't intend for it to focus so heavily on religion in the end, but I've always been under the impression that the Fields are religious, and I thought it would be interesting to delve further into how Emily would feel about God after coming out and going through all that she went through with A and Alison and Maya.**_


End file.
